Jack Higgins - The Death Trade

‘Not quite, Sean, now that I’ve told you.’

Dillon put an arm around her shoulders. ‘I’m glad you did, girl, perhaps I can help carry your burden.’

‘But there is no burden,’ she said. ‘Those men deserved what they got. I don’t feel the slightest guilt in the matter, so what does that say about me?’

Dillon actually laughed. ‘God save us, Sara, I can’t help you there, being in the same boat.’ He passed her the pack of cigarettes. ‘Have another if you want, I’m going to check out the Mini.’

His clothes were completely soaked now, and Abu had slumped onto his side. Dillon pulled the body away from the car and laid the corpse out on its back.

He crossed himself and, remembering Abu’s final words, murmured, ‘You’ll know all about it now, son.’

He turned to the Mini and inspected it as best he could. The passenger door required a bang to close it, but the fact that the gates standing half open had bounced out of the way on the Mini’s passage into the yard meant there was little damage. The lights still worked, and he found that he could drive it around the yard. As he was doing that, a large black van coasted in silently and four men in black overalls got out.

‘Good to see you in one piece, Mr Dillon,’ the man in charge said. ‘No injuries, I trust?’

Dillon shook hands. ‘I’m in perfect working order, and so is Captain Gideon, Mr Teague.’

‘A pleasure to see you, ma’am,’ Teague said as Sara approached.

Two of his colleagues were already easing Abu into a black body bag, the third had righted the Montesa and was wheeling it to the rear of the van.

‘No problem with the bike, we’ll dispose of it, but I’d be obliged if you would show me what happened with the London cab.’

Which Dillon did, Sara following them. They stood on the broken end of the wharf, and Teague shone a powerful torch. ‘Forty feet down and possibly a depth of thirty feet. Remember, the Thames is fiercely tidal, so the wreck of the cab could be swept away. No exchange of fire?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Dillon told him.

‘So if it ever was examined – say, by the river police – it would pass as a very unfortunate accident.’

‘Which you could say it was, in a manner of speaking,’ Dillon told him.

‘So that’s what we’ll leave it as.’ Teague turned to Sara. ‘What a world we live in, ma’am. So pleased you’re in one piece. The Mini being usable, Mr Dillon, I presume you’ll be driving back to Holland Park?’

Dillon turned to Sara. ‘Would you rather go home?’

‘I think that would be a good idea. I’ve got to face them sometime, put on a show of normality.’ She held out her hand to Teague. ‘I’m sure we’ll meet again, but I hope it’s later rather than sooner.’

She went to the Mini, and Teague said, ‘A remarkable lady.’

‘You can say that again. That Al Qaeda assassin had me in his sights, and she took him on with a spring blade. Saved my life.’

‘So you owe her, and big-time. Always remember that, my friend.’ Teague shook hands, went to the van where the others waited, got in, and was driven away.

Dillon went to the Mini, where he found Sara behind the wheel. He slipped into the passenger seat. His only comment was ‘When you drop a gear and put your foot down hard, there’s a huge power surge. It’s the supercharger.’

‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind,’ she told him, switched on, and drove away. He selected a CD and music drifted out. Fred Astaire. As the intro played, Sara joined in, singing softly: ‘There may be trouble ahead / But while there’s music and moonlight and love and romance / Let’s face the music and dance.’

‘Great lyrics,’ Dillon said.

‘A lesson for everybody.’ She hummed along and never said another word until they reached South Audley Street and Highfield Court, where she drove into the drive. Dillon got out as she moved halfway to the house and turned. ‘Night bless, Sean, it’s been a sincere sensation. See you later.’

‘Take it easy,’ he said, got behind the wheel, and reversed out of the drive.

The front door opened to her, and Sadie, wrapped in a dressing gown, stood to one side as Sara entered and closed the door behind her. ‘It must be four o’clock in the morning, and you’ve been drinking, I can smell it.’

‘And singing in a piano bar.’ Sara made for the stairs. ‘Is Granddad all right?’

‘Went to his bed hours ago. Honestly, Sara, I don’t know what’s to become of you.’

‘That’s easy, Sadie, I’m going to Paris, so let me get to my bed and a few hours’ sleep while I can.’

By now at the top of the stairs, she got the door of her room open, kicked off her boots, flung herself on the bed, still in her clothes, and was instantly asleep.

At Holland Park, Dillon found Ferguson in a dressing gown and sitting with Roper, being served tea and bacon sandwiches by Sergeant Tony Doyle, who greeted Dillon cheerfully before anyone else could.

‘I expect you might fancy the same, Mr Dillon.’

‘Tony, you’ve got it exactly right,’ Dillon told him. ‘But I think I’ve earned a Bushmills first.’

Roper passed him the bottle. ‘Help yourself.’

‘And then I’d like an explanation.’ Ferguson was annoyed, and it showed. ‘What in the hell have you been getting up to now? And what were you doing involving Captain Gideon?’

‘You can rein in your horses right there, Charles. You had retired for the night, I was due to run Sara home, Giles here noticed a suspicious London cab hanging around. It could have been something or nothing, but ended up very much a something.’

‘In what way precisely?’

‘A man called Abu informed me that there is only one God and Osama is his Prophet. He had his Glock on me, and I was on my knees at the time.’

Ferguson frowned. ‘Al Qaeda was behind this?’

‘I should say so,’ Dillon told him. ‘Sara saved me by stabbing Abu a couple of times, giving me the chance to shoot him. I’d managed to attract his back-up man into taking a dive off the local wharf into the Thames, so you could argue that a fine time was enjoyed by one and all.’

‘Including Sara Gideon.’ There was a small and quizzical smile on Roper’s face, a query: ‘Is she okay?’

‘Absolutely,’ Dillon said. ‘I’ve just delivered her to Highfield, where I imagine she’s gone straight to bed.’

‘Which doesn’t surprise me at all, having heard all that,’ Ferguson said. ‘So, Al Qaeda on our backs again, gentlemen. Rather unexpected, I’d have thought.’

‘But they haven’t put anything our way for some time,’ Roper said. ‘So why now?’

‘Maybe they’ve got wind of your interest in those Mediterranean rust buckets, Charles,’ Dillon said. ‘That would certainly add a new dimension to things. There’s really nothing else that would interest them as regards our present activities.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ Roper told him. ‘This Simon Husseini business. Al Qaeda would be happy to know why we are so interested in him.’

‘So would I,’ Dillon said. ‘But not now. I’m going to bed in the guest wing to get some sleep while the going’s good.’

He departed, and Roper said, ‘Well, there you are, General. I wouldn’t mind knowing what Paris is all about, but I expect you’ll tell us in your own good time.’

‘Well, we certainly aren’t going to try to snatch him,’ Ferguson told him. ‘That’s not on the agenda at all, because of his mother and daughter.’

‘Which only leaves trying to turn him?’

‘Leave it, Major, I’m not prepared to discuss it. I’m going back to bed, which seems the fashionable thing to do.’